


Carrion On A Conversation

by GreetingsFromThePunderworld



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Elena Lee Rush, Frank Iero Sr. - Freeform, Gerard can not be put in social situations, Gerard talks to dead stuff, I DONT KNOW WHAT TO TAG!, I mean it was a thing so, I repeat no metaphysical powers, Idk if what I wrote was a panic attack? So yeah, M/M, Not Supernatural, Ok tags hmm..., Only a slightly insane teenager, These tags should be better, frank befriends gerard, frenship, gerard has no living friends, he has imaginary friends? Idk, it doesn't work, the whole thing takes place in a graveyard, this is not what tags are for, what are these tags even?, wth am I doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8381518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreetingsFromThePunderworld/pseuds/GreetingsFromThePunderworld
Summary: Gerard talks to people. Just not the living ones.Some could actively dispute that visiting a graveyard daily, befriending the deceased and drawing what they might have looked like did not help the stability of one's mind, but Gerard could argue that it was better than sitting in his room with himself and his thoughts for hours on end.This summary and the tags are pretty awful, but the actual story is good (I think).





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Early Halloween!
> 
>  So the title makes more sense: Carrion is dead stuff; mainly the flesh of said dead stuff but oh well, it works in the title.
> 
> Frank and Gerard's relationship is completely up to you, whether they are just friends or something more, it's not defined.
> 
>  
> 
> Please tell me what you think, constructive criticism is appreciated.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

   
Gerard had once again presented himself before rows upon rows of granite slabs, attrit with age. They were set in moist, grainy dirt, just as they been yesterday, and the day before that, and the year before that.

 

This was already the fifth time he had been there that week.

 

It was only Monday.

 

Gerard had only recently realized that you would need to be slightly unhinged to relish in the spectacle of the resting place of hundreds of decomposing corpses. And even more so to relish this on a regular basis.

 

Unhinged, deranged, insane, crazy all words that had been used to describe the disheveled teenager that loitered by himself around a graveyard. Being considerably friendless he had somehow managed to make friends out of the names written on rocks.

 

'In loving memory of Genevieve Irving 1892-1956'

 

Gerard had visited Genevieve twice in the past few days, her presence was comforting to the young artist. He had imagined her to have been a sweet lady before her passing.

 

  
"It must be dreadful spending an eternity buried six feet under dirt." Gerard mused, continuing to draw what the old lady looked like in his mind."But living above ground isn't much better."

 

Gerard wondered how Genevieve had died, how many people had attended her funeral, if her family had loved her when she was alive and if they missed her now. He pondered this among other things about all those that had been laid to rest in this cemetery.

 

"I can't imagine Samuel's company is all that great to keep." Samuel Ingram was who inhabited the allotment adjacent to that of Genevieve's, he had been buried there for 9 months. Gerard had been there when his friends and family had buried him, not in a creepy way, just passing through.

 

Gerard could guess that Samuel had been rather crotchety, especially in the ripe age of ninety-three he had lived to see before passing. He had drawn a sketch of Samuel eight months ago. It was left half finished like many of the other drawings in his sketchbook.

 

Gerard didn't converse much with Samuel because of his unfriendly personality, Samuel also didn't like the 'youngsters'. They reminded him to much of his lost youth, Gerard didn't want to make him any more uncomfortable than he probably already was, decaying in a coffin and all.

 

The teen stood up from the kneeling position he had been holding, he closed his shabby sketch book.

 

  
"I think it'll be a while before we talk again Genevieve. It has been nice meeting you, I'm sure you were a wonderful lady. Goodbye." Gerard moved on to the next grave inscription beginning to envision who Denton Jefferson was. He struck up a placid conversation while he began yet another sketch, this time of an African American male in his late 40's.

 

Some could actively dispute that visiting a graveyard daily, befriending the deceased and drawing what they might have looked like did not help the stability of one's mind, but Gerard could argue that it was better than sitting in his room with himself and his thoughts for hours on end.

 

You would think that this imaginary small talk would help strengthen Gerard's lacking social skills but they actually had the opposite affect. The dark haired teen had never been social. He was, and still is inept to simple social ques. He had tried on countless occasions to make friends, but found that he was lacking in the skills and drive that were required to uphold any flimsy bond he had ever managed to form. This is why Gerard had resorted to talking to lifeless people, to keep himself as sane as he could as the independent young man he was.

 

Loneliness is a common enemy to most people, but more so to some more than others. Gerard was others, even when he was young he couldn't make friends, and yet he hated being alone. His grandma knew this and took something resounding close to pity. She was the one who introduced him to his first imaginary friends at the age of four. He stopped talking to them, though, once his grandma died. They weren't ever much fun anyway.

 

The discussions he held with the dead had led him to the conclusion that those who could not display their own thoughts and feelings were infinitely easier to talk to than emotionally complicated people. He based this off of the few interactions he had with the able-bodied and minded kids at his school. The ease he felt amongst these figments may have been due to just that, they were his creations essentially. Gerard's mind was very imaginative and creative.

 

When Gerard talked to the fictitious characters he could be uncut. Completely himself. Free, of all the perplexities that real relationships brought, of all the judgments he would have had to face. What Gerard had now was much easier than what most normal people had.

 

He knew he was being foolish and cowardly, but that did not prevent him from his visitations.

 

So when Gerard wasn't at school or at home he could likely be found at the local cemetery, drawing and easily conversing with the dead.

 

A while ago his parents had attempted to intervene stating that these behaviors weren't normal for a teenager, let alone anybody. Eventually they gave up after Gerard had broke his ankle scaling the side of the house at ass-o'clock in the morning. Gerard had been attempting to subdue the intense compulsion's that bubbled inside him, turning and churning, they had been keeping him awake for years.

 

His mother had been speaking to his father in the hallway of the hospital the same night he had broke his foot and Gerard had overheard what she had said, "He needs to move on, its really not normal... But If he's going to go to such great lengths to see his grandmother, they were very close, than why should we try and stop him?"

 

The notable thing about the conversation was that everyone still thought he only went to the cemetery to visit his grandmothers grave. Gerard knew that wasn't true and mostly everybody buried in the cemetery knew it wasn't true too. Gerard had moved on from her death years ago, but he was still hung up on going to the cemetery. It had become an addiction of sorts, one that kept him awake and unsettled until he was amongst the familiar graves.

 

This whole routine of ill normalcy could have easily been prevented if he hadn't been allowed to freely visit his grandmothers grave as often as he did when she had first passed on. He suspected that his parents never cared nearly enough to put any separation between him and his escapades to the necropolis.

 

His parents thought nothing of it when they heard Gerard talking to his grandmothers grave the day after the funeral. It was normal after all, talking to the grave of a loved one, and their eldest son had always been a little on the stranger side of things.

 

When Gerard was old enough to drive by himself was when he began wondering about all the other characters that populated the graveyard. They were probably lonely, like him.

 

Theresa Rutford was the first inanimate carrion Gerard had spoken to, aside from his grandma. Her grave was directly to the right of his grandmother's.

 

Theresa had been a recovered drug addict in her life time, probably heroine. Gerard knew that probably wasn't true. He didn't really know Theresa, and he never would. That didn't stop him from fantasizing. He imagined she had sunken in tight features and dry tangled brown hair, so that's what he drew.

 

The beginning of these thoughts is why Gerard became infatuated with the idea that he was surrounded by hundreds of unknown strangers. Foreign names etched in stone. Blank pages in his sketchbook that he could fill. But then he thought that isn't much different than the people he saw walking down the street, although those strangers still lived their lives. He had their faces not their names. With the people that were buried it was the complete opposite, he didn't have the faces, he only had the names.

 

Gerard could create stories and appearances for all these nobodies and make them some bodies in his mind. This gave Gerard a strange sense of control he would never have been able to find if he had closely associated himself with any other person his age.

 

Gerard pulled his phone out glancing at the time, "Shit."

 

7:53 a.m.

 

He was going to be late for school. Again.

 

/:/:/:/:/

It was around 5:30 in the evening.

 

Gerard had finally arrived at the cemetery. He was late because his little brother, Mikey, asked him to drop him off at a friends house claiming to have work to do, they were more likely to be found fooling around watching movies.

 

Gerard indulged his little brother, in a way Gerard lived vicariously through him.

 

Gerard parked his el cheapo rusting trams am across the street from the cemetery in its usual space. The car was there so often it blocked out most of the sun light and now the grass was dying. Oops.

 

He stalled the car and gave the familiar churchyard a quick once-over. There were about five or six cars parked in the allotted spots. There must be a funeral.

 

Gerard decided he would introduce him self to the newcomer tomorrow. Nobody visits a grave the next day after the person had been buried, so he should be safe. Except Gerard, he had done just that when his grandma was buried.

 

Gerard continued about his usual business, he paid little attention to the multitude of people adorned in black and they paid a null amount to him.

 

After spending much of his free time in cemeteries around funerals and mourners Gerard learned that grieving people were not talkative. They usually kept to themselves. This was another thing Gerard liked about cemeteries, the few times people were actually there they minded to themselves. There was little to no chance of somebody striking up conversation with a 'fellow mourner'.

 

Gerard made the short trek to the farthest graves away from the ceremony currently taking place.

 

This section held the graves of those who had been here the longest. The Ancients, as Gerard referred to them as.

 

You could just barely make out the names written on the stones. Josie and Nicholas Gage, Charles Langley and Moss, were what was legible enough to read.

 

"Good evening Miss Moss." Gerard assumed that Moss was the last name of a young socialite in the early 1800's. She had been murdered illicitly due to a trope with a lover. She had been very dainty and thin, with long corn-silk hair.

 

"Today was as uneventful as the last seventeen years of my life. Then again I can't be complaining, can I? You've been doing the same thing for the past 200 years, being dead."

 

Gerard rambled on questioning about Miss Moss's life to which he imagined would be delightfully answered in soft, fluttery, lengthy sentences.

 

Gerard talked until the sky grew dark, and the funeral had long since ended. He knew it was best if he went home before Bert, the grounds keeper had to 'politely' ask him to leave.

 

Gerard's knees popped when he stood, he waved goodbye and continued with stiff legs back to his car.

 

He purposely walked past the fresh mound of dirt to see who the newest addition was to their resting place.

 

'Frank Anthony Iero'

 

After reading the name Gerard continued on the slow stroll to his car.

 

  
/:/:/:/:/:/

It was 4:00 in the morning.

Gerard had woken up at 3:00 with his usual intense yearning to be among the only people he knew, so there he sat in the dark, not remembering how he even got there, sketching Frank Iero to quell the formerly gained addiction of graveyard visitations.

 

Gerard must have dozed off on the damp ground because it was now 8:00 am. Internally groaning Gerard clumsily dashed to his car, but he found it nowhere in sight.

 

This was not the first time this had happened. Gerard had walked to the cemetery in the wee hours of the morning before, too drained to remember that he could drive. The thing that actually drove him to the cemetery was not a car, but the itch that couldn't be scratched unless faced with the presence of his dead friends.

 

Without a car, it would take Gerard entirely to long to go home and get the car or to walk straight to the school. It would pointless to go right to school anyway, he didn't have his book bag.

 

The surly teen decided to skip school today and perhaps talk more to Frank or complete his unfinished outlines, he ended up doing both.

 

Around 10:00 Gerard began wondering where the hell Bert was. He saw his grimy blue pick up truck in the parking lot, so he knew he was for a fact on church grounds. Gerard guessed, based off what he was told by the deceased, that Bert was most likely getting high in a crypt.

 

This tempted Gerard to go seek him out and request a hit. He refrained from doing so, he didn't want to have to get up and walk.

 

Due to being an insomniac and rarely attaining the proper hours of sleep, Gerard began nodding off again around noon. He eventually fell asleep, he used his secondhand sweater as a pillow.

 

/:/:/:/:/:/

The sleeping teenager was leaning against a crooked tombstone, sketchbook open and in hand when he awoke to being lightly jostled.

 

Gerard groggily opened his eyes, but quickly shut them due to sun light shining directly on them.

 

Gerard used his hand to create a visor and look at who had awoken him.

 

Still half asleep Gerard registered that it was a boy kneeling in front of him with eyes. And a square jawline. He was pale. Also hair, he had nice black hair similar to Gerard's.

 

His hair wasn't the only thing nice about him, all his facial features fit into the category of nice. If Gerard were fully awake they would probably fit under the category of sexy or hot, but he wasn't completely awake, so they remained nice.

 

"Are you alive? Better yet, are you a zombie?" He questioned leaning back on his heals. This guy seemed oddly familiar, "Hmm, S'not what he looked like." The stranger said, pointing at Gerard's concept drawing of Frank Anthony Iero.

 

"Oh..." Now Gerard was beginning to completely wake up realizing the rebarbative situation he was in. "Oh." He choked out in complete awareness.

 

Gerard stared at the now sexy-hot teen whom he only barely recalled from seeing somewhere before, probably school...

 

Gerard's insides grew tight, and he became increasingly skittish and shaky in the company of an actual living human being. The unsettled teen didn't know what to do or say, so he settled on, "School must be out." He gauged the other teens reaction with a nervous laugh, hoping he wasn't blundering too much.

 

The other teenager glanced at a nonexistent watch. "Yeah, it is."

 

Gerard struggled to stand up, clutching his sketchbook for some kind of emotional support. "I'm going to go now." Gerard managed to say before turning to leave.

 

"You were just sleeping on my Grandfathers grave," The boy whose name was still unknown began lightly "You don't really seem like you have somewhere to be."

 

Well shit. Gerard had never been good at lying. "I do too. I have to... uh... pick up my brother." If that lie were told by Pinocchio it would have been ten times more believable.

 

"Mm-hmm, and what do you have to...uh...pick your brother up from?" He mocked as a sad attempt to lighten the mood.

 

"Uh," Gerard choked on his words beginning to tense."Scho-" No school was already out. But what about after school clubs? To late now. "My house?"

 

"Yeah okay, are you sure?"

 

" One-Hundred percent." Fuck this shit. Gerard was about to be G-O-N-E. Gone.

 

"Bull. Shit." He countered.

 

That was it, Gerard was gonna blast. But then he remembered he wasn't because he didn't have a damn car. Gerard exhaled at his utter stupidity. Still not knowing what to do, Gerard stood there glowering at the ground.

 

The boy snorted. "That's what I thought." Gerard peered up at him a feeling of nausea overcoming him. The other teen wore a smirk, not a douchey smirk, just unsettling, a confident smirk. He continued, "Why were you so eager to leave? No, wait. Why were you sleeping in a cemetery? Wait, no. Why were you sleeping on my grandpas grave in a cemetery?"

 

Gerard was becoming noticeably ill and overwhelmed by too many questions so he ingeniously answered them with "Yes?"

 

An awkward silence overcame them both, the shorter of the two still wore that smirk. "Oh, right, you probably don't know my name, I'm named after my grandpa here," he pointed to the grave. "Frank Anthony Iero Jr., pleased to meet you- woah. Hey, are you okay?"

 

Gerard was now beginning to gain a sickly grey pallor, "Gerard Way...not okay." Was all he managed.

 

Gerard slowly sat down, he opened his sketchbook to a random page and continued shading a sketch. The shaking stopped and Gerard calmed down.

 

Why Frank sat down next to Gerard was far, far beyond his comprehension. He was okay with it as long as he didn't have to have a conversation with him.

 

Frank exhaled. "Sorry, I know I'm a major fuck up and I reach an impressive level of annoying. You don't need to say anything, I'll go if you want."

 

Gerard thought about what to do for a moment, he didn't want to let Frank think he thought his presence was completely dreadful. "It's not really you, I'm just not good at...social stuff. I mean look, I'm in a graveyard for the love of God. You can stay. Only if you want, I mean."

 

Is this what normal people had to deal with on a daily basis? Jesus, this was exhausting.

 

"Okay... yeah." Frank was quiet for a while.

 

"He looked like me, my grandpa. I can show you a picture of him if you want to see what he really looked like."

 

Gerard looked up from his drawing, wondering why Frank wasn't even slightly weirded out by him drawing someone based on the name engraved on a tombstone.  
Frank pulled out his phone and scrolled through his pictures, he stopped on one that depicted an older man playing drums in black and white.

 

"He does look like you." Gerard looked back down meticulously at his current sketch.

 

Frank leaned his head back against the tombstone and closed his eyes. He rambled on quietly about his grandfather, it calmed Gerard that somebody else was doing the talking for once.

 

/:/:/:/:/:/

The sun was beginning to set, it was still high enough for some light to filter through the trees.

 

"It's getting late." Frank noted "I'm gonna go now. Are you going to be here tomorrow?"

 

Gerard nodded. "Yeah but, hey, um Frank?"

 

Frank was taken aback that Gerard was speaking again,"Yeah?"

 

"I don't have a... uh... way home. Do you...can you drive me?"

 

Thankfully Frank didn't question how Gerard had gotten there in the first place, he helped Gerard stand up "Sure."

 

Gerard found it strange how Frank knew where he lived without asking. He didn't get to think about it for too long, he got to distracted by Mikey bombarding him with questions.

 

/:/:/:/:/:/

Gerard didn't go to the cemetery in the morning before school, it was pouring rain. So instead he slept in for once, Probably tired from all the questioning Mikey put him through the previous night.

 

Mikey had been overly excited that somebody had dropped Gerard off at his house. That meant he had actually talked to somebody, maybe even made a friend.

 

Gerard assumed that the possibility that he would be visiting a friend instead of spending his time in the cemetery was astonishing to his brother.

 

Gerard only vaguely explained his encounter, but he left out the small tidbit of information that they had met in the cemetery, over a grave, and that's where they were meeting again today.

 

Gerard fixed the drawing of Frank Iero Sr. To match the picture that Frank Iero Jr. had showed him. He didn't have to come up with this imaginary story for once, which was strange. Frank had told him a lot about his grandpa.

 

It came as a shock to Gerard that he wasn't dreading Franks arrival to the cemetery that afternoon.

 

If he even showed. It was pouring rain after all.

 

Gerard always visited the cemetery despite the weather, he never paid much attention to it. His only concern had ever been about his sketchbook getting ruined.

 

Gerard decided to wait under one of the countless trees strewn about the grounds. He sat there, eyes closed and fingers twiddling with a small twig.

 

He would have drawn in his sketchbook but he left it in the passenger seat of his car, it was what he usually did when it rained.

 

The artist was becoming antsy, so he glanced at who he was near.

 

He read the name on the slab of rock closest to him.  
He vaguely remembered talking to Karen Brown years ago. She had been quite boring, she only talked about her cats.

 

"Hi Karen, it's been a while," Gerard said. "How have you been?" Gerard continued the conversation out of boredom.

 

It was beginning to rain harder and the tree was no longer helping to alleviate any of the falling water.

 

Since Gerard already looked like a drowned hamster he deviated from the small amount of protection granted by the oak tree. He ambled around aimlessly, lost in thought, becoming the most self aware he had been in years.

 

What was he even doing?

 

Nearly eight years he thought.

 

He had practically lived in a fucking graveyard for eight whole years. Eight years of his life wasted. He had literally nothing to show for his life, unless you counted his unfinished drawings and the decrease in his mental stability.

 

To no one in particular, Gerard choked out, "I can't keep doing this shit!" He was terrified, appalled at how he had been so naive. So stupid, he was surrounded by people who would probably give anything to live a life, and he was flaunting his around as if it were meaningless.

 

How does anybody spend so much time wasting their one chance at living?

 

Being the complete lunatic Gerard was, the hysterical laughter began bubbling up in his chest. How ironic, he was wasting his life in a cemetery.

 

Gerard's laughter quickly turned into a wheezing, he clutched at his chest. For an undistinguished amount of time, he struggled to catch his breath.

 

Gerard's face was up-turned towards the overcast sky, mouth stretched open wide as he gasped for air.

 

He did not receive the air he fought to intake, instead rain began pooling in his mouth quickly. Suffocating from lack of air and excess of water, Gerard began coughing until his throat felt scratchy and raw.

 

The tears that were spilling down his cheeks were indeterminable from the rain water. After his coughing fit Gerard inhaled and exhaled shaky breathes.

 

Gerard began to mentally stabilize when he could finally breathe normally. He read what was carefully chiseled into the grave he had collapsed in front of. He was as familiar with this name as he was with the layout of the graveyard.

 

'Elena Lee Rush'

 

"Really?" Gerard groaned. Did the universe enjoy kicking Gerard in the balls and then wiping its boots on him? But not before spitting directly in his face.

 

Gerard was still mid-revelation, he was apprehending the imminence of his existence, and how he had been perpetually screwing himself over by wasting what he had lived of it so far.

 

"It's time to move on, isn't it?" He directed the question towards his grandma.

 

/:/:/:/:/

Gerard had lain there comfortably, and unmoving, for hours. He had processed the benefits and desideratum of advancing on with his life, to leave behind the 'people' had grown to know in the cemetery.

 

He realized he really needed to leave behind the only thing proverbial and familiar to him. He really couldn't live his life with these sullen fantasies as company.

 

This is why Gerard shouldn't be left to his lonesome, his own existentialism came under intense scrutiny. Never being 'alone' is why Gerard hadn't ever really questioned what he needed to do in his life, what he wanted to accomplish.

 

So when his thoughts of the dead left and were overcome with the realities of relationships with living people he began questioning where his actions would have led him.

 

Gerard lay in a cold, shallow puddle that had recently collected, in the middle of a cemetery, while it poured rain, questioning his existence.

 

You can't get more aesthetic than that.

 

Gerard had completely forgotten about Frank up until the point when he heard the slow approach of footsteps splashing in the sludgy mud. The slow steps became more rapid, Gerard turned his head to see Frank bounding towards him sending mud splattering in his wake.

 

Frank called out, "What the hell are you doing? Are you okay?"

 

When Gerard had thought of meeting with Frank again this is not how it had played out in his mind.

 

Gerard answered, "Just...uh... thinking."

 

Frank kneeled down next to where Gerard lay. He brushed away the damp hair clinging to Gerard's face. "Jesus Christ. This is normal for you isn't it? I think you might actually be a real idiot. Like a bigger idiot than Mikey said... you..." Frank trailed off realizing he made a mistake, meanwhile Gerard bolted upright, a live wire at hearing his brothers name.

 

"Mikey? As in my brother Mikey? You know him?" Gerard asked his fists clenched.

 

"Well yeah..." Frank looked past Gerard avoiding eye contact. "I mean I thought you would have noticed. You dropped him off at my house like two days ago. And I've been to your house. More than once. In the past week."

 

"Oh." Gerard again had vague recollections of Frank at his house and him hanging out with Mikey. "Did he put you up to coming here yesterday?"

 

The shorter teen shook his head. "No, I forgot my phone in the church, so I came back to get it. Then I saw you and thought you were dead or something."

 

Frank continued, "Oh and sorry I got here so late today, I didn't think you were going to be here. It was," he paused looking up at the sky."Is, raining fucking hard. I called Mikey to tell you that I wasn't gonna come, but you weren't there. He had already kinda explained... this stuff before."

 

Gerard was still doubtful that Mikey hadn't set up this whole elaborate plan to get Gerard to have an actual relationship. Either way he liked Frank, and that was a whole new thing for Gerard. He decided to hell with it, he was feeling intrepid because of his most recent revaluation of life.

 

"I'm about to do something I have never done before. Like ever" Gerard said.

 

"Okay." Frank looked at him expectantly.

 

Gerard leaned in closer to Frank.

 

"Do you want to go do something, like... I don't know what, but something that's not in a graveyard?" Gerard was scared that Frank could hear his heart thudding in his chest. Out of dread or anticipation, Gerard wasn't sure, maybe both.

 

"Are dead people buried in cemeteries?" Gerard took that as a yes.

 

/:/:/:/:/

A few months had passed since Gerard had met Frank, looking back going to see that awful movie and then going to get coffee was the literal best decision Gerard had ever made.

 

After Frank and he had gotten more familiar with each other, Frank and Mikey suggested to introduce him to their other friends, Ray and Bob.

 

Gerard had been very apprehensive about meeting them, he was still new to this whole having real-friends-that-were-living thing, but walking down Frank's basement stairs -where Mikey, Ray, and Bob where fraternizing over two nearly empty boxes of greasy pizza- was the second best decision he had ever made.

 

Gerard had stood there awkwardly and offered the trio a small wave.

 

In an outbreak of movement, the blonde guy, Bob had grabbed a limp slice of pizza and presented it to Gerard. "Hey, We saved you a slice!"

 

Startled, Gerard had shrieked flailing his arms as an automatic defense mechanism. He had smacked the slice of pizza out of Bobs hand, it flew a short distance across the room and somehow landed in Rays hair.

 

This is why Frank can't take Gerard out.

 

Gerard had been too ashamed and apologetic that he ruined his first impression by spazzing out to see that Ray wasn't even mad. Quite the opposite, in fact, the whole feat had elicited raucous laughter from the group.

 

Flinging pizza into somebody's afro had been an engaging icebreaker to Frank's loquacious and rowdy friends.

 

The five of them were now a close-knit group of friends. They teased and joked about anything and everything mainly jokes revolving around Ray's hair, Frank's shortness and more often than not; 'the pizza incident'

 

/:/:/:/:/:/

For such a little man Frank had helped Gerard take some big ass steps. He now had friends, two whole people he would never have known if it hadn't been for Frank.

 

Gerard barely thought about the graveyard anymore, he did only when he was making some progress towards completing the unfinished drawings he had done. It was his way of finalizing his departure, finishing what he started.

 

Frank stood beside Gerard, he held a bouquet of cheap flowers, neither of them knew what kind they were, just that they looked nice.

 

There had been two bouquets but one of them already lay on the grave where Gerard and Frank had met.

 

It was the anniversary of Gerard's grandmother's death. He wasn't sad or even nostalgic being surrounded by the falsities he had created, he felt rapture and euphoria.

 

"Ready?" Frank asked.

 

Gerard hummed his response turning away from the flowers and sketchbook that lay on his grandmas grave.

 

Perhaps the gnawing on his insides hadn't ever been an urge to wander around the graveyard, but to have some type of contact with another human, to have the relations he had thankfully made. Either way, the itching and gnawing had long since ceased to pester Gerard, especially since completing all the sketches that were now sealed in a faux-leather sketchbook on a grave, in a cemetery. 

 

  

**Author's Note:**

> In all honesty Frank probably went back and took the sketchbook so it didn't get ruined or something and also so he could keep it for himself.
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> Thanks for reading!
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> If any body wants to write a collab with me, I am very bored.  
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> Look ma, imma fropessional!
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> This was going to be posted Halloween, but then I thought that's when everybody'll be posting stuff, I also couldn't wait to post and I finished it early.


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